


INFAMIA ROMAE: A Scandal in Rome

by hoc_voluerunt



Series: SPQR [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Asexual Character, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sherlock Holmes on the Asexuality Spectrum, Story: A Scandal in Bohemia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt/pseuds/hoc_voluerunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting back to Rome from the villa with a gaggle of slaves, too few horses, and only a handful of belongings would be difficult in any situation, but when burdened by a soldier with a burned shoulder and a debilitating fever, the journey is a hard one. Back in Rome, however, there are not only doctors, but new obstacles: the aftershocks of Otho's suicide and Vitellius' trembling hold on the throne; a Vestal Virgin who looks to be running away from the marriage arranged for her retirement; and the unanswered question of what to do with a relationship that is suddenly a lot harder to maintain with the eyes of a city upon them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	INFAMIA ROMAE: A Scandal in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Latin translations in mouseover text, or in [this post](http://hoc-voluerunt.livejournal.com/39859.html).

            It was a long, slow trek back to Rome.

            Eurytos, the eldest of their company was fifty-two; the youngest, eight. Of the six horses, one pulled the cart into which everyone had bundled their belongings, and on which Eurytos rode. The remaining five were mounted by those who could ride, and those who needed to: two children shared one perch, a boy of fifteen took another; and a young woman, Anaitis, lived up to her Parthian heritage, having trained herself to be so skilled in riding that she was given the job of scouting ahead and keeping watch while the others toiled slowly along between her swift turns. The last two horses went to Celatus and Vannus as the masters; but as the distractions and danger of the night wore away, and dawn came and went, bringing with it the start of their march, the hardship of Vannus’ burns began to wear on him, and it wasn’t long before his grimaces turned to pinched eyes and a grunt at every jolt. When they lay down to sleep at night, in a ditch off the side of the road, he insisted to Celatus that he should take watch — but Celatus pressed him down upon the hard, cold ground, and all but ordered him to rest. Though they had no wine, and certainly no medical supplies, there was a little stream nearby from which Shifra directed a supply of water, and, under Vannus’ instructions, Celatus washed out the raw, open wounds on his arm, shoulder and back, as he gritted his teeth and was held down by three of the slaves. Of their little supply of food, a morsel each was given to the youngest, the eldest, and Celatus. Vannus refused.

            During the night, Anaitis fled on the fastest horse, and three more slaves crept away on foot, and sweat beaded on Vannus’ forehead despite the winter chill.

 

            At midday, Celatus’ voice rang out across the plain as Vannus’ body slumped, and sighed, and slid sideways from the saddle. He hit the road with an unimpressive, crumpling thud, and, as Celatus pulled to a halt their entire train as he dismounted, Vannus did not move, or speak, even just to groan.

            “Vannus!” Celatus cried, as he hurried to his knees in the dust and plucked with hesitant fingers at Vannus’ arm, turning him over even as he tried to avoid the burns. “Vannus, what’s happened? Can you hear me?”

            The children were craning their necks from atop their horse, and some of the others had gathered around to see what had happened; but Shifra herded them away from the scene, with a single backward glance at Vannus’ still form on the ground.

            “Vannus, please...” Celatus whispered; but Vannus’ only reply was half-shut, shuddering eyelids, and a faltering breath. Celatus, with one arm holding Vannus’ injured shoulder off the ground, looked up at the stunned and weary faces around him.

            “Help me get him to the cart,” he ordered, but no one moved, and Celatus’ voice rose to a snarling shout. “For Jupiter’s sake, _help him!”_

            Two slaves helped to clear a space in the cart, and lift Vannus up beside Eurytos, among the scattering of clothes, blankets, bowls, jugs, private bundles, and the firewood they’d picked up along the way. Shifra took Vannus’ place upon a horse, and Celatus moved his mount from the front of the group to the back, where he rode beside Vannus’ limp limbs in the cart. At nightfall, they moved off the road; built a fire; gathered what meagre food and water they could find; chose names for each watch; and Celatus curled up in the cart beside Vannus, and tried to share his warmth under a single woollen blanket.

 

            He was woken by Vannus’ shivers, and chattering teeth, and aimless, meaningless murmurs.

 

            On the third day, one of the children spotted a farm — a sprawl of buildings by the road — on the horizon. There, to Celatus’ relief, Shifra revealed, tied up in a cloak, a small, oaken chest of coins and jewellery which she had snatched away from the fire: the majority, as Fortune had gifted them, of the Cornelii valuables that had been kept in the villa. Celatus generously paid their hosts — two women, a young man, and one slave — for food, water, and shelter for the group in their barn. One look at Vannus’ pale face and weakened limbs, however, prompted the young man — presumably a son — to offer up his bed to the wounded soldier. His room was small, but it was on the ground floor, and Celatus carried Vannus’ shivering body to stability and comfort as if he were lifting him to a healing river. He sat beside his friend, and wiped the sweat from that clammy brow with his own, long hands, and whispered prayers and entreaties to divinities — most of all, the one who lay in a farmer’s bed on the road to Rome.

             _“Obsecro, Vanne,_ ” he whispered; _“non sanare possum si manus non adest ut ducat.”_

            They rested for what remained of the day, and slept more peacefully through the night in their safety; but when morning came, and Vannus groaned at the very blistering of his skin, they had all to mount horses, and tie their shoes, and wrap themselves in what cloaks and coverings they had, and return to the road. Celatus gave up his horse to a more needful rider, then, and walked beside the cart with his eyes always on Vannus’ form, suffering between bumping wood and a thin blanket of wool.

            In the night, two more had left to try their hands at freedom.

 

            By the nones, they were almost never alone on the road, and Vannus had begun to twitch and cry out in his fevered slumber, while his weak arms and rolling eyes searched for a solace that could not be found.

 

            After nearly two weeks, they finally trudged through the crowd at the Porta Fontinalis, where, without warning, they were met by Sollemnis, whose entourage included a spare litter with two slaves to carry it, and six pairs of hands to take care of the remaining slaves and their meagre belongings. Celatus, against all expectations, including his own, was struck by a great sigh of relief at the sight of his brother, and, when he was approached, he returned the family embrace and kiss with gratitude and fatigue.

            “Piso,” Sollemnis said as they parted — “how is Piso?”

            But Celatus shook his head. “Ill,” was all he could say as he led his brother to the back of the cart, and even in his distraction, he caught every nuance of the exhale which passed through Sollemnis’ mouth. Celatus sat beside his friend and leaned over to bring their heads on an equal level, and breathed his name.

            “ _Vannus.”_

            He shivered, and blinked open his eyes, but they were glazed and vacant in his feverish absence. Celatus raised one hand to hold his cheek and keep their faces close.

            “We’re in Rome, Vannus,” he said. “We’re nearly home, there’s no need to scare me anymore.” He tried for a smile, but it shattered on his lips. Vannus, however, kept his dark eyes locked on his friend’s, and his voice hissed out from between his teeth.

            “S— Seia,” he croaked. “Seia.”

            Celatus pressed his lips together, and nodded, while his thumb stroked back and forth in its little space on Vannus’ cheek.

            “I’ll fetch her immediately.”

 

            Pain was all that Vannus knew; pain, and pain, and Celatus’ voice crying sing-song lines of _something_ in his ear. He lay flat on his front on a table in CCXXIB, with his back bared to the cold, harsh air, and heavy hands on his legs and hips and back to quell his thrashing as wine and water washed his skin; and before him, holding his wrists and stroking his hair, Celatus knelt, and, heart wavering, recited.

             _“Iliaci cineres et,”_ he lilted, as Vannus gritted his teeth, and cried out, and Celatus gripped his arm tighter and held their tearful faces close: _“flamma extrema meorum — testor...”_

            Vannus shouted and wailed, drowning him out, but Celatus could only hold him down and raise his voice as Seia worked.

 

            When Vannus next woke, his mouth felt parched, his tongue like sand, his eyes sealed shut with wax; and there was something smooth and soothing against his shoulder and arm. He lay curled on his left side, naked under a pile of blankets, his skin tacky with old sweat, and screwed up his forehead and held his breath until he might sigh it out, and, with it, all his fatigue and discomfort.

            It didn’t quite work, but he managed to open his eyes afterwards, and considered that a victory.

            With small, slow movements, he tucked his left elbow underneath himself, and levered himself upwards, until he could pull in one leg and swing his weight forwards, and sit up. His right foot escaped the covers to settle on a familiar floor, and feel the brisk chill of morning, and he rubbed at his eyes with a low groan. His right arm he held instinctively to his side, bent at the elbow and in need of a sling; and all around his upper arm, his shoulder, his back, and looping now and then around the span of his chest for stability, were swathes of cream-coloured linen, bandages which bulged a little with his swollen skin and, he guessed, some kind of ointment.

            He remembered flames and ashes, of Troy and the Arretium countryside, and sighed.

            His old room at CCXXIB was as familiar as always: the narrow bed on which he sat, the table beside it — usually cluttered with things, but now bare but for a jug of water, a cup, a clean cloth, and a neatly-folded triangle of linen — the drawers opposite, the trunk at the end of the bed, and the empty shelf where normally he kept —

            His breath froze in his lungs.

            “Cela—” he tried to shout, but his throat was as dry as a desert, and it came out as nothing more than a feeble croak of sound before it collapsed into a fit of coughing. Already weak, the fit sent him buckling back down to the mattress, even as he tried again, and cried out: “Celatus! _Celatus_ _—”_

            A short series of light, bounding footfalls sounded, and then the door burst open, admitting a flow of weak daylight and Celatus’ lank and toga-clad figure.

            “Vannus, _Vannus_ _—”_ he muttered, as if without thought, as he crossed the room in four strides and reached for the jug. “Don’t speak you fool, _don_ _’_ _t speak_ — hold on, I’m —”

            Vannus’ coughing had left him curled on his side once more, convulsing and failing to breathe. Celatus sat beside him, and curled his hand under Vannus’ neck to lift him up and still avoid touching his injured shoulder, then he held the cup full of water to Vannus’ lips.

            “ _Drink,_ _”_ he insisted. “Don’t try to speak, just drink.”

            With great force of will, Vannus suppressed his hacking fit, and covered Celatus’ right hand with his left to usher the cup to his lips. He swallowed all that he could before his throat and lungs rebelled, and, between gasps, he rasped out:

            “The penates —”

            “I said _don_ _’_ _t speak,_ _”_ Celatus insisted, and raised the cup back to Vannus’ mouth. “Drink, you can speak later when your insides aren’t shrivelled from fever.”

            “The penates, Celatus —” Vannus repeated, and swallowed the last of the water, though much of it spilled down his chin along with the tears that had been forced from his eyes. Finally done, he grabbed at Celatus’ clothes and demanded his attention. _“_ _Where are the penates?_ _”_

            Celatus huffed in frustration.

            “They’re over the hearth, where else should they be?” he snarled, and released Vannus when his own arm would support him in order to refill the cup from the jug on the table. “Safe and sound, I promise you — they’ve survived two displacements, now, because of you.”

            Vannus watched the side of Celatus’ face and, after a moment, noted where, even in relative shadow, he could see the pinched edges of Celatus’ eyes, and the jut of his tense jaw, the set of his mouth. But Celatus returned with water, then, and helped Vannus to swivel around and sit up on the edge of the bed, then he set the cup in Vannus’ left hand and went back for the two cloths on the table.

            “ _Drink,_ _”_ he ordered; and Vannus obeyed, though more from his own need than in heeding the command. Celatus knelt before him as he swallowed down great gulps of the cool, fresh water, and wiped the sweat, old and new, from Vannus’ palms, his sternum, his neck and collar, then dabbed at the spilling around his chin and mouth, and where his hair clung to his forehead, a new, darker shade of bronze.

            “Give me your arm,” he said. Vannus breathed with renewed strength and calm as he gingerly peeled his elbow from his side and held it out to Celatus’ hands. One look at Vannus’ face, and Celatus gave a great sigh and roll of his eyes, as he tucked one end of the triangular cloth under Vannus’ arm and over his right shoulder.

            “Yes, I _do_ know what I’m doing,” he growled, and drew up the other end of the cloth. Vannus cleared his throat in that small, specific manner of his, and, as Celatus stood and carefully tied together the ends of the cloth, he added: _“_ _Seia taught me._ _”_

            Vannus smiled, and said nothing.

            Finally, Celatus tucked the last corner of the sling in at Vannus’ elbow, and dropped back to crouch before him, with one palm rested upon each of Vannus’ knees.

            “How do you feel?”

            Vannus snorted, and shook his head.

            “Only you could have gotten this far and not asked that question.”

            “ _I was busy,_ _”_ Celatus snapped. Vannus hummed in acquiescence, and leaned forward to touch his forehead to Celatus’.

            “What’s on the wound?” he asked, in an undertone.

            “Ground lentils and honey,” Celatus replied, matching his softness. “Seia said you’d prefer that treatment.”

            Again, Vannus hummed his agreement. “She’s paid attention, then.”

            “She gave me some myrtle, too,” said Celatus — “if you’re in any pain.”

            Vannus smiled wanly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

            “You’re sure?”

            “For now.”

            Celatus released a long, steady breath from his nose, and moved forward to rest his weight on his knees. His hands slipped up, over Vannus’ bare, prickly thighs, which shifted to accommodate his advance, until Celatus knelt between Vannus’ open legs and held the crests of his hips between his palms.

            “I was very worried,” Celatus said, steady and deliberately even, directed to somewhere about Vannus’ navel. Vannus’ smile grew a little wider, and he raised his free hand to cradle the corner of Celatus’ jaw, which relaxed under his touch.

            “Sorry about that,” he murmured. “It wasn’t deliberate, I promise.”

            Immediately, Celatus’ eyes shut tight, and his brow and mouth twisted as if in some great pain; and he lifted his face as if he might meet Vannus’ eyes.

            “Oh, _carissime..._ ” Vannus sighed. His hand tightened against Celatus’ jaw, and he dipped his head to press his mouth to Celatus’ cheek. The effect was instantaneous: Celatus’ breath rushed out of him and his brow smoothed out, and he reared up on his knees, pushing Vannus up and back, to return the kiss against Vannus’ mouth with his hands gripped gently on either side of Vannus’ head. They stayed like that — kissing softly, as Vannus’ fingers traced their way down Celatus’ neck to grasp the collar of his tunic — until Celatus very carefully pulled away.

            “You should eat,” he said, with quiet voice.

            “Nothing that _you_ _’_ _ve_ cooked, I shouldn’t,” Vannus retorted.

            Celatus screwed up his nose and mouth as he said, “Excuse me, I’ve had to support myself since you’ve been so unhelpfully unconscious.”

            “And you didn’t just rely on Hirtia for food?” Vannus shot back, brow high and mouth light. “Well, may Jupiter strike me down...”

            “Shut up,” Celatus snapped; but his hands on Vannus’ knees were firm and calm, and a smirk pulled at his lips in response to Vannus’ arched look. “I said _shut up!_ _”_

            Vannus laughed even through his stiff limbs and shuffling gait out into the kitchen, and even when Celatus tied a blanket around Vannus’ waist in deference to modesty and nearly burnt a potful of emmer porridge.

 

            Vannus’ prayers to the penates that night were hushed with exhaustion.

 

            The next morning, Vannus limped, bedraggled and stiff, from his bedroom. There were deep shadows around his eyes, and his tunic was only half on, held around the waist by a belt but leaving his chest bare. The bandages on his arm and shoulder were mottled and heavy on his skin where he held his injured arm close to his side. From his chair by the hearth, Celatus’ eyes flashed over his cithara, darting up and down the length of Vannus’ scowling form.

            “Menna is coming over today to tend to your wound,” he said. “Your fever’s returned.”

            “Not quite,” said Vannus, “but it’s a good guess.” In turning toward the kitchen, he missed the moue of displeasure that crossed Celatus’ mouth. “Couldn’t sleep for the pain, that’s all.”

            Immediately, Celatus was on his feet, instrument abandoned in his chair.

            “Seia gave me myrtle, remember?” he pressed, as he followed his friend. “Did you forget? Is it affecting your mind?”

            “It’s not affecting my mind, no...” Vannus sighed. He was standing before the half-empty pot of cold emmer, as if baffled as to how to go about getting some to his stomach. Celatus’ mouth was flat.

            “I’ll get the myrtle,” he said. “You look awful —”

            “ _Celatus._ _”_

            Vannus’ stern tone stopped him even as he turned towards his room.

            “Cela— ...”

            His eyes were almost on the floor, and though his rigid limbs had not moved, his gaze had shifted, as if the intent had been to look at Celatus, but the action been aborted too early for use. His jaw shifted as his tongue probed at his back teeth, and Celatus swallowed, and blinked, then raised his hesitant hand to Vannus’ jaw. The effect was instantaneous — a slight but overall melting in the tightness of his muscles — so Celatus persisted, and brought both hands now up to the skin of Vannus’ neck and cheeks and jaw. His fingertips brushed burn and bandage and sandy hair, but although Vannus flinched, he drew Celatus closer with a hand in his toga. He opened his mouth to speak something careful and breaking; but instead, the words that came out were:

            “How long did it take us to reach Rome?”

            Celatus drew back his chin and peered down at his friend.

            “Thirteen days,” he answered. “Today is the third day after the ides of November. It’s been nearly sixteen and a half days since the fire.”

            “I could use that myrtle now,” Vannus replied; but his hand was still gathered up in the folds of Celatus’ tunic, and the _nobilis_ glanced down at it with a blank expression.

            “Well, I’d — be happy to help you with that, if you’d —”

            “Kiss me,” said Vannus. Celatus frowned.

            “Are you _sure_ the injury hasn’t affected your mind?”

            “Kiss me _please._ _”_

            “Not that I’m not keen to oblige, only I worry that —”

            “Celatus, by all the gods above and below —”

            They met in the middle, and even though Vannus grimaced at the pain in his shoulder and arm, he kissed Celatus, and held on to his clothes, while Celatus bore Vannus’ skull between his hands. A step sounded on the staircase, and Vannus jolted back, but Celatus pursued him, in search of what, he didn’t know.

            “They could be for us —” Vannus tried to protest, but Celatus’ mouth was too close, and they were kissing again all too soon — soon enough for a familiar voice to carry an unfamiliarly cruel tone.

            “ _Well,_ _”_ said Valerius Laevinus, “I guess _you_ _’_ _ve_ been busy.”

            Celatus and Vannus darted apart, and Vannus’ horrified expression met Celatus’ wide eyes for half a moment before he was turning to their visitors — the legate of the vigiles and Dido, with equal smirks — with a highly hesitant smile.

            “Laevinus!” he cried, then hesitated, mouth open, with a glance between Celatus and their guests. Finally, he asked, “How’ve you been?”

            “Oh, well, well enough, considering the circumstances,” Laevinus drawled, as he entered their rooms with a snide glance. “You look —” He frowned. “I was going to say something funny, but I guess it’s out of line. We heard about your shoulder. How is it?”

            Vannus shrugged with his left arm.

            “Healing,” he said. “Slowly.”

            “Well, you’re at least living up to your legion’s namesake, I suppose,” Laevinus remarked, to which Vannus raised one eyebrow.

            “That makes two of my shoulders he’s claimed, then,” he replied. “I only wish he’d find less painful methods of doing it.”

            “Perhaps he could _sing_ you to his side.”

            “ _Please,_ _“_ Celatus snorted. ”Piso has no appreciation for the arts, that would hardly win him.”

            “I have no appreciation for your tuneless cithara-playing,” Vannus arched towards him, “there’s a difference.”

            Celatus’ high-browed, wide-mouthed expression of offence was enough to set the rest of the room laughing; but Vannus ended with a groan and a grimace, and pressed the heel of his free palm against his eye.

            “Celatus?” he forced out.

            “Myrtle, yes,” Celatus muttered, sobering in an instant, and dashed off towards his room. Laevinus took a seat at the large table in the middle of the kitchen, while Dido leaned against the wall behind him.

            “Still paining you, then?” Laevinus asked.

            “Like Diana’s hounds have been at it,” Vannus grumbled.

            “I met up with Hirtia a couple of days ago,” Laevinus continued, his brow wrinkling in concern, “she told me about your treatment when you got back to Rome...”

            As he spoke, Vannus wiped his face with his hand and sat across from Laevinus as he failed to suppress a groan. “Mithras and Mars...”

            Laevinus bit his lip, and glanced over to the shielding door of Celatus’ room.

            “So, you and the Cornelius...” he started in a low voice, with laughter in the corner of his mouth. Vannus rolled his eyes.

            “Yes, what about us?”

            Dido interrupted.

            “He only wants to know which of you he should still be addressing,” she sighed, as if she had far better things to do than endure such a conversation.

            “Hey, now!” Laevinus blurted, with a glance back at her and a tempering hand held out. “I never said that.”

            “As if he doesn’t know you were thinking it,” Dido snapped, with a nod of her chin towards Vannus, whose jaw had gone tight.

            “We _came_ here,” Laevinus insisted to her, “to check up on them. They’ve been gone for almost a year, remember?”

            “Yes, and one glimpse of them kissing is enough for you to start questioning which one’s taking it and which —”

            “Well, it’s a pertinent question, isn’t it?!”

            “ _Hardly,_ _”_ came Celatus’ dark drawl as he reappeared, a few dry leaves of myrtle in his palm. “Even if it were worth your trouble to know, _neither_ of us has fucked the other, so you can keep your petty assumptions in the street where they belong.” He came to a halt beside Vannus, across the table from Laevinus and Dido, who now stared with skeptical brows and shock in their postures. Vannus took the myrtle from him with a murmur of thanks, and began to chew. He screwed up his nose at the taste.

            “You don’t honestly expect us to _believe_ that,” Laevinus laughed. “We _saw_ you!”

            “You saw us _kissing,_ legate,” Celatus sneered. “No wonder so many thieves go free in your part of the city...”

            “Well, yes, _most_ people, when they kiss someone, tend to have something else in mind,” Laevinus returned. It was a stronger blow than Celatus’ remark, but Laevinus clearly didn’t know it. He curled his lip, with a resigned tilt to his brow still in place, while Celatus froze in place, his wide grey eyes, transfixed, stuck on the legate’s form. There was silence — as if Laevinus had expected a piece of sarcasm in return, and, not receiving it, was at a loss how to proceed — until Vannus swallowed a mouthful of bitter spit, and voiced a quiet word.

            “Celatus.”

            All of a sudden, Celatus was transformed. His shoulders hunched forward, and he leaned his palms on the kitchen table to lower his uglied face to Laevinus’ level, heedless of the folds of toga which slipped free of his shoulder. His mouth was twisted, eyes narrowed and blazing, teeth bared and nose thrust forward like a hissing cat, and, on the table, his fingers curled like claws against the wood.

            “ _How dare you,_ _”_ he growled, a rumbling, sibilant, vengeful noise. Laevinus stared, stunned and almost fearful, at Celatus’ transformed face, as Vannus leaned forward, with one hand pushed out against the tabletop as if to placate or restrain.

            “Celatus —”

            Laevinus sat back in his chair and inched away as the muscles in Celatus’ arms rippled and he said again, _“_ _How dare you._ _”_ He began to straighten, as if to step around the table, but Vannus’ hand darted out to grip his arm and hold him in place.

            “Celatus, _don_ _’_ _t._ _”_

            “Don’t _what?_ _”_ Celatus snapped, with his eyes still on Laevinus’ slack-jawed form. _“_ _Don_ _’_ _t what,_ Vannus, please do tell me what I should and should not do, because it sounded to me as if he was —”

            “Dido, please —” Vannus cried over him, glancing to her with order and entreaty in his eyes while he tried still to hold Celatus in place with his tenuous grasp.

            “Up,” she snapped immediately, grasping first Vannus’ meaning, and then Laevinus by the shoulders, to physically drag him from his chair.

            “I don’t understand,” Laevinus babbled, still staring at Celatus’ seething form, “I didn’t say anything —”

            “We’re leaving,” Dido spat over him. She caught Vannus’ eye. “We’ll see you later.”

            With a stumbling of booted feet and the measured track of Dido’s sandals, they were gone, out the nearest door and whisked out of sight down the narrow stairs. Vannus relaxed his grip on Celatus’ arm and tugged him around.

            “Celatus, I know he was out of line —”

            “ _Out of line?_ _”_ Celatus repeated, low and harsh, and though he met Vannus’ eye, he very quickly looked away again, through the doorway Laevinus and Dido had disappeared through. “Out of line? He was _insulting,_ he was _belittling,_ how dare he, how _dare_ he presume anything about us, anything about _me,_ how dare he say something like —”

            “Celatus, he didn’t know —”

            “Don’t you _defend_ him on account of his ignorance, Vannus, don’t you dare, don’t you _take his side,_ he’s the —”

            “He is a _friend,_ Celatus, you can’t attack him — Mithras and Mars —”

            “No friend any longer,” Celatus sneered at the doorway. “What _insolence,_ what _violence,_ how _dare he_ _—”_

            “ _Celatus!_ _”_

            Only the anger in Vannus’ voice was enough to distract Celatus from his seething. He looked down to where Vannus was sitting — injured, impotent — and his shoulders fell.

            “I’m going for a walk,” he said, suddenly toneless, and pulled his arm from Vannus’ grasp. Vannus raised his fingers to his forehead with a sigh as Celatus headed for the stairs, hitching his toga into place.

            “Don’t murder a legate in the streets, Celatus,” he called after him, “for mine and Minerva’s sake...”

 

            Two hours later, Vannus had fallen asleep on the couch, and was jolted abruptly awake by the crack of something being dropped on the table beside him. Celatus was already walking away, but as he did, Vannus blinked into focus, and looked down to see a bowl of fat, crimson grapes, newly-deposited, waiting beside him. His face creased with an ambiguous frown.

            “What’s this?” he asked, half-smiling up at Celatus, who was now pacing and clattering in the kitchen, getting out something that looked suspiciously like samples of a pig’s liver.

            “Grapes,” Celatus sneered. “Have you gone blind, now, too?”

            Vannus snorted, and pushed himself upright with one hand, with his feet dropping over the side of the couch and his shoulder stinging. He plucked a few morsels into his hand from the bowl. “And where, by Bacchus, did you get them?”

            “Fruit merchant owes me a favour,” Celatus murmured, bent over the table.

            Vannus levelled towards him a raised brow and sideways smirk, but the _nobilis_ wasn’t looking.

            “ _Really?_ _”_ he teased. “And don’t lie, Celatus, you know I can see through you.”

            Celatus’ dipped his head so that his dark curls dropped over his forehead and ears.

            “I passed the forum on the way home,” he muttered. “The last bunches of the season are apparently out, and I thought we might be able to make use of them.”

            “Mm-hmm,” Vannus hummed, swallowed, and popped another few grapes between his lips. “Totally rational and impulsive act, was it?” he said, between chews.

            Celatus glared at him from across the room.

            “ _Of course._ _”_

            “Strange, I don’t believe you,” Vannus said, with a subtle frown in his brow and a blank mouth.

            “Now that _isn_ _’_ _t_ a rational act.”

            “After all, you _hate_ fresh grapes.”

            Celatus’ entire back stiffened. There was a short pause before he spoke.

            “You don’t know that.”

            “I absolutely _do,_ _”_ Vannus snorted. “You avoid them like a Jew avoids pork.”

            “I do _not,_ _”_ Celatus snapped — but was silenced by Vannus’ level voice

            “It’s also _December._ _”_

            Celatus’ mouth was a tightly-screwed coil of distaste. For a long moment, he did not reply, but Vannus was patient. Eventually, the answer came, mumbled and rushed.

            “Sollemnis always has excellent resources and I picked some up for you on my way home.”

            Vannus snorted with affectionate laughter again. “Thank you, Celatus,” he said, commonplace and silently laughing, as he plucked another few of the gifted grapes from the bowl and dropped them one by one into his mouth.

            “ _Salvete!_ _”_ came Hirtia’s voice from around the door. She glanced in, first at Celatus, then Vannus. “Ooh, grapes! Where by Bona Dea did you find these?”

            “Celatus picked them up from his brother on the way home,” Vannus smirked as she joined him on the couch and picked at the fruits. “Wasn’t that kind of him?”

            He and Hirtia sent identical looks of teasing gratitude towards the kitchen.

            “That was _so_ kind, Celatus, how good of you!” Hirtia cooed with glee.

            “Menna’s nearly here,” Celatus scowled, “I overtook her near the aqueduct.”

            “Oh, that nice doctor friend of yours!” Hirtia smiled. “I haven’t seen her in a little while.”

            Celatus rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Hirtia, _most_ of his friends are _nice doctor friends_ , you must learn to be more specific.”

            “Don’t mind him,” Vannus quipped through a mouthful of grapes, and swallowed. “He’s just upset that we know how much of a sentimentalist he can really be.”

            Hirtia smiled, and they both ignored Celatus’ outraged cry of, _“_ _I am_ not _a sentimentalist!_ _”_ At that moment — as predicted — Menna appeared in the doorway, peering with amusement around the corner at Celatus, and a grateful smile touched Vannus’ mouth.

            “Menna,” he said, straightening. “How have you been? I’d hoped you’d stayed safe last January, but I couldn’t come to see anyone, what with...” He nodded towards his shoulder.

            “ _Salvete_ ,” Menna said absently as stepped into the room and placed a basket filled with jars, pots, and rolls of bandage on the floor near the low table before Vannus and Hirtia. ”I’ve been as well as anyone,“ she answered, turning to Vannus, with a tragic smile, “and better than many. Now let me ask you: has Celatus been attending to you properly?”

            Celatus’ eyes shot to her like an offended arrow, and she looked over at him with a laugh.

            “Yes,” Vannus chuckled, following her gaze. “He’s been very good.”

            “He bought our soldier grapes today,” Hirtia added with smile. Menna frowned.

            “Grapes?” she repeated. ”You’ve just recovered from a fever, Piso, you should be eating stronger food than _grapes._ _”_

            Celatus’ mouth fell open, and a small, high sound of indignation escaped his throat, which made Vannus laugh out loud.

            “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” he sighed, as Celatus caught his eye and shrank, reluctantly humbled. _“_ _I_ appreciate them.”

            Menna glanced between the two of them, and her smile grew larger on her lips.

            “Well, we may as well get started,” she sighed, as she crossed to sit on the other side of Vannus on the couch. “Hirtia, you may want to leave. This, er — won’t be smooth or pretty.”

            “You underestimate me,” Hirtia clucked, tilting her chin in mock-offence. “I’ve seen plenty of things in my day, I’m sure I can manage.”

            Menna’s answering smile was more of a grimace. “I still think it a good idea for you to go downstairs...”

            Hirtia’s brow contracted and her mouth went tight. She looked over at Vannus beside her, and a long sigh escaped her nose. “You be careful, my boy,” she said, with a brief clasp of his hand and a kiss to his cheek. “Look after him, Amulius dear,” she directed at Celatus as she stood to leave, “this house wouldn’t run without him.”

            They listened to her steps retreat down the stairs, and her muffled calling to her slave. Celatus had frozen in his work.

            “Celatus,” Menna said, “could you bring me a large bowl, if you have one?”

            He turned a frown on her, but — as she began to pick at the knot in Vannus’ sling — relented. He clattered about in the cupboards behind him, and Menna began to unwind the bandages on Vannus’ shoulder and arm, which clung feebly to the old paste masking his damaged skin.

            “Has there been much pain?” Menna asked in quiet voice as she worked.

            “No more than expected,” Vannus replied, matching her tone. “Nothing near that of the first application, for certain.”

            “Seia told me the wound was beginning to fester, when you arrived,” said Menna. “I should hope it hasn’t hurt as much since.”

            At that moment, Celatus placed a broad, deep bowl of clay on the table before them. Menna thanked him with a smile, and dropped the first strip of soiled bandage into it as she transferred it to her lap.

            “A bucket of water next, Celatus,” she said, as she continued her work. Celatus’ lip curled, as if his soul rebelled at being given menial tasks; but he went nonetheless, grabbing a bucket from near the doorway and stomping down the stairs. Menna dropped another strip of mottled bandaging into the bowl.

            “Other than the grapes, then,” she said to Vannus — “you’ve been eating well? The fever hasn’t recurred?”

            “Yes to former, and no to the latter,” Vannus answered, obedient; but cut off any longer reply with a hiss of pain, as a piece of linen unstuck from a particularly stubborn section of the paste on his shoulder. Menna stopped in her movements, and raised only her eyes to meet his.

            “All right?”

            He nodded, but said nothing, gritting his teeth instead over the pain.

            By the time Menna peeled away the last of the bandages, Celatus came stomping up the stairs with his bucket full of cold, clear water. Menna smiled in thanks; but Vannus, having paled a little from the pain, did not react to his entrance.

            “How is it, then?” Celatus asked, as he rounded the table to place the water by Menna, then retraced his steps to sit on Vannus’ other side.

            “Healing properly, from what I can see,” Menna replied, all smoothness and calm, as she bundled up the dirty strips of cloth in her hands and dropped them into the bowl. Celatus reached for Vannus’ hand to distract him from the gritting of his teeth, but Vannus flinched his fingers away before they could touch. The bowl in Menna’s hands paused for just an instant as it was moved from her lap to the floor, and her eyes flickered down to the movement and then back onto her work.

            “You can hold his hand if you need to, you know,” she said, as she set aside the bowl and plucked a cloth from her basket. “I wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for your reluctance.”

            “ _Don_ _’_ _t,_ _”_ Vannus snapped. “Don’t you patronise us too, we don’t need your _judgements_ —”

            “Piso.” She dropped the cloth into the bucket and glared at him until he met her gaze and sagged, chastened. “I’m the last person in the world who will judge you, and you know it.”

            She wrung out the cloth at the same time as Vannus’ hand sought Celatus’. The _nobilis_ , thankfully, did not express the questions hidden in his creasing brow.

            “Now,” said Menna. “I’m going to wash away the ointment from last time,” she explained, a practical, soothing gesture as well as an explanation for Celatus’ benefit. “Then we’ll see how inflamed the wound is. I suspect he’ll need another few days with the lentils and honey, and then we can move on to the next part of the treatment.”

            “And what’s that?” Celatus asked, as he peered around Vannus’ front to his shoulder and arm, to where Menna was folding the damp cloth around the fingers of her right hand.

            “Flour, and either rue or hoarhound,” Vannus answered, though his voice was tight. He glanced up at Menna. “Yes?”

            “Whichever we have in better supply,” she replied, her left hand falling upon the junction of his neck and shoulder, just above where the burn began; “which, last time I looked at the stores, was definitely the hoarhound.”

            She wiped her cloth over the outer edge of Vannus’ arm, from shoulder to elbow, and he gave a full-body flinch and a pained grunt. Menna rinsed the cloth, and the water in the bucket bloomed with sticky lentils and wet, dead skin.

            “Good,” Vannus said, in a strained voice. “Hoarhound is good, I’ve always —” Another swipe of Menna’s cloth, and he cut himself off with a caught breath. “I’ve always found hoarhound to be more effective than the rue.”

            Menna wiped at the underside of his arm, and his bare toes curled against the floor, his fingers twined with Celatus’ going white with the strain. After another stripe, Menna turned away, and washed out the cloth in the bucket, so Vannus had time to release his held breath and pant as, for a moment, he let his limbs go weak.

            “And then?” Celatus asked. Menna glanced at him, but Vannus seemed to pay no heed, so Celatus brought his left hand to their joined ones and pressed, repeating the question. “After the flour and hoarhound, what then?”

            “Vetch and honey,” said Vannus, then swallowed, as Menna returned with her cloth cleaned and he sat up straighter and held out his arm to her ministrations. In one, broad movement, she cleaned the flat front of his shoulder and arm, and caused him to stutter as he added: “Or r— r— resin of terebith.”

            He breathed hard, hand clenched again in Celatus’.

            “There’s always the iris ointment, too,” Menna added, to drown out the sound of Vannus’ whimper as she scraped the the delicate skin near his neck. “Though I imagine that’s a little out of your price range...”

            “I can pay for it,” Celatus interrupted. “Whatever’s best, I’ll pay anything, I have the money.”

            Vannus gripped his hand tighter, and clenched shut his eyes, and let out a harsh, sharp cry through his teeth as Menna cleaned his back and shoulder — the very worst of the burns.

            “No,” he forced out, “no, the — the honey is best.” He pressed his lips together until they were white, and groaned in his throat with a short shiver.

            “Really?” said Menna, as calm as a pool in a windless summer. “I’ve heard that the terebith —”

            “No, _honey,_ _”_ Vannus spat, then expelled a breath as Menna took away the cloth and dropped it in the bucket. “Honey, always,” he panted, “for open wounds, I swear by it.”

            “Honey, then,” Celatus murmured, as he ran his hand up and down Vannus’ left forearm. “Vetch and honey it is.”

            “Done,” Menna proclaimed, and wrung out the cloth over the bucket. “Celatus, would you refill this?”

            He squeezed Vannus’ hand once more before he shot to his feet, heaved at the bucket, and left. Vannus followed him with his eyes, and sighed once he was out of sight.

            “You’re a very good friend, Menna,” he murmured, “and I’m sorry for forgetting you. Not all would be so understanding.”

            Menna smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his brow. “You love him,” she said. “That’s not a problem. And you can take it from someone who’s well and truly been there: not all of what people assume about your sex life is going to be accurate.”

            Vannus snorted. “Now _that_ _’_ _s_ certainly true.”

            They left the subject with comfortable ease. When Celatus returned — without the bucket — he stopped in the doorway to peer at them.

            “What’s that,” he said, almost an accusation. “What’s that look on your faces, what have you been scheming?”

            “Mithras, Celatus...” Vannus laughed, shaking his head, and held out his left hand to beckon and be held. “Don’t be so suspicious.”

 

            Menna held the broad bowl in her lap to catch the dripping waste as she washed the wounds with a bottle of wine from her basket, working always with one eye on her charge and one on his companion, who remained close and ever attentive. She let Celatus apply the lentil-and-honey, to watch his method and correct him if need be; but he was efficient, and as gentle as Somnus, and when he took the clean bandages from Menna, his hands were steady and his fingers lithe at his work. When he finished, Vannus was pale, and his face drawn, but the latter half of the treatment had been less painful than the first, and he had remained strong. Celatus kissed his temple, then his cheek, then slowly tucked Vannus’ elbow into the sling, and tied its knot around Vannus’ neck.

            “You’ll want to wash those old bandages,” said Menna as she gathered her things, with a nod at the grime-filled bowl with its lumps of foul-smelling linen. “And toss out the water afterwards, as quick as possible.” Tools and products re-packed, she hefted her basket on her arm and stood on the other side of the low table from the couch, so that she might smile down at where Vannus and Celatus sat, with heads bent close and Celatus’ arms wrapped loosely around Vannus’ neck.

            “Take care of each other, won’t you?”

            Vannus gave a weak chuckle, and his breath puffed against Celatus’ arm.

            “When do we not?” he smiled, and glanced at her, askance. Her expression was a sideways twist of amused skepticism, and she seemed to deem his remark unworthy of a reply.

            “I or Seia will be around in a few days’ time,” she said instead, and headed for the door — “keep the wounds clean, and alert us _immediately_ if something looks wrong.”

            “Thank you, Menna,” Vannus called as she left, and she tossed over her shoulder one final goodbye as she descended the stairs.

            “ _Valete!_ _”_

 

            Celatus had missed his cithara while they’d stayed in the villa, and the calmness and boredom of the days and evenings became tinged with tunes from his careful, agile fingers. Vannus could not have been more grateful for the sounds; but neither could he have been more attentive when the melodies began to break off without warning, or their plucked sounds become strained or chaotic from the sudden loss of grace in Celatus’ playing. After three days, Celatus’ harsh and aimless playing seemed to threaten danger to Vannus’ shoulder, for his bandages needed to be changed, and it seemed that Celatus could not stop his fingers from twitching and scratching at nothing. Vannus still lacked the strength to walk about for long; but on the tenth day before December, Celatus refused to leave his room — had barred the door against Vannus’ attempts to enter — and Vannus grew not only worried, but irritated, pained, and utterly at a loss.

            A little further up the Aventine was no trouble to walk. Late in the afternoon, he struggled into a tunic and tied his sling by himself, and headed out into the fading light. He went to see Mykale, who greeted him at the door with a smile and admonished him over the jug of blood and burning candle on her counter, while her small, dust-coloured fingers traced out the points of a little semi-circle near the centre of a map of stars, marked out in carvings and ink on narrow slats of wood. The winter’s dark came early, though, and by the time Vannus left, the sun had dipped down and left only shadows in the streets. When he reached the via Pistoris, he could see Celatus’ silhouette pacing back and forth across the thin windows above, highlighted by lamplight, and prayed that it was for a case.

 

            “Vannus! Thank Minerva above —”

            As soon as Vannus mounted the last step, Celatus was dragging him into the room by his good arm and pressing him down into his seat by the hearth.

            “Here, read this,” he commanded, snatching up a small leaf of papyrus from the table and thrusting it at his friend. Vannus raised his brow, but took the papyrus, and looked at it for a long moment, before he held it back out to Celatus.

            “It’s in Greek.”

            “Oh,” Celatus said, with fallen shoulders, “right. Erm.” He took the note, cleared his throat, and read out, translating as he went: “’At the fifth hour after noon tonight, there will call upon you a woman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the deepest importance. You have shown yourself to be one who may safely be trusted with matters of the utmost delicacy. Be in your rooms at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a veil.’” At this last, Celatus arched a look of profound scepticism down at Vannus. “Well? What do you think?”

            “Mithras and Mars, Celatus,” Vannus sighed, “I have no idea. It sounds like it could only be either a complete farce, or of genuine importance.”

            “The question is: which,” Celatus mused, staring blindly at the papyrus in his hand. “Well, it’s almost the time,” he eventually added, “so I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

            “Is there any food, while we wait?”

            “Oh, there’s...” Celatus muttered, waving an absent hand at the kitchen. “Something.”

            Vannus rolled his eyes as he stood, and padded past him to search out something to eat. As he dug some bread and dried pork from a basket, he heard the clatter of slaves’ steps outside the building, and raised his eyes to Celatus’.

            “Your client?”

            Celatus’ mouth was screwed-up in distaste. “At least the footsteps are too light to be Sollemnis,” he said, as he craned his neck to see the litter left on the street.

            “Good Ceres and Fortuna,” Vannus grumbled as he stuck his nose in the cupboards, “we need to go down to the forum soon...” He tore a piece of pork off with his teeth, shut the cupboard, and turned to find Celatus watching a figure swathed in an elegant stola, with two shawls twined about her shoulders and two veils upon her head, one of which fell down completely to cover her face from brow to collar.

            “Forgive the secrecy, Cornelius Celatus,” she said, in a voice low and imperious, “but the matter, as I believe I mentioned in my note, is a delicate one.”

            “Good evening, madam,” Celatus replied smoothly. “You obviously know me, but may I also introduce my colleague Caelius Piso —” he added, with an arm held out towards the kitchen — “who will be assisting in the matter you bring before us.”

            The veiled head turned, and Vannus froze — swallowed his mouthful of food — and smiled tightly.

            “ _Salve_ ,” he said, with a nod.

            “Now,” Celatus continued, “by what name m—”

            “He won’t do.”

            Celatus’ brow rose. “I beg your pardon?”

            The veiled figure nodded towards the kitchen, while her hidden gaze remained on Celatus.

            “He won’t do. You must dismiss him.”

            Vannus bit his tongue behind pursed lips and stepped forward. “I think you misunderstand, madam —”

            “He is not someone I can dismiss,” Celatus spoke over him, his tone rather belying the statement. “It is both of us or none. Which will it be?”

            The obscured head turned to Vannus and watched him chew his bread. She stepped further towards Celatus.

            “You may address me as —”

            “Varia Camilla,” Celatus interrupted. “And I assume the matter is to do with your son’s impending marriage.”

            The figure froze, and then sighed, moving to sit in Celatus’ chair — the most obviously comfortable one. She lifted her second veil and folded it back over her forehead, revealing dusky, Hiberian features and bright eyes. “How did you know?” she said.

            “It was very well done,” Celatus conceded, “but I’m afraid your husband keeps distinctive slaves, if one knows what to look for.” He inclined his head to the windows behind him. “Benefits of a street-side room.”

            “You’ll keep this secret?” the woman — Varia — demanded, her keen eyes falling first on Celatus and then on Vannus, who was approaching from the kitchen. “Both of you?”

            “To the best of our abilities,” Celatus began, but was overridden by Vannus.

            “ _Yes,_ madam, of course.”

            He met Celatus’ eye with a glare, and retreated to the couch. Celatus sat across the hearth from their new client.

            “So, what can we do for you, Varia?”

            “You said it yourself — my son is to be married.”

            “To the vestal virgin Aquilia Aetia when she retires next week,” Celatus added, “yes, most of Rome knows of the engagement.”

            “I believe she intends not to uphold the _pontifex maximus_ ’ promise.”

            “No, well,” Celatus drawled, “that emperor has been dead for over a year. I imagine if Aquilia had doubts, now would be the time to express them.”

            “The priest’s promise was and is legally binding,” Varia said, sharp and directly enunciated. “It doesn’t matter who the new one is, Aquilia has no right to pull out from her side of the bargain. This match is vital for my son’s career and my family’s reputation, I will not see it ruined by some virgin’s whim.”

            “And what evidence do you have for Aquilia’s lack of faith?” Celatus asked.

            “She’s been leaving the temple almost every day.”

            “It is within a Vestal’s right to walk around Rome.”

            “She has not done that in the past,” Varia insisted, in that same, overly-pronounced tone. “It’s out of the ordinary. I suspect she is having an affair with some other man, and intends to leave Rome on the day of her retirement.”

            “Also quite within her rights.”

            “ _She made a deal,_ _”_ Varia growled. “To go back on it would dishonour her, but worse still, it would _ruin_ the reputation of my boy _and_ my family. I cannot have that.”

            “What would you have me do, then?” Celatus asked, and thought his tone was polite, his neck was stiff, and his syllables clipped.

            “Follow her,” Varia commanded. “Find out what she is doing. If there is another man she intends to run off with, make sure that she doesn’t. I am perfectly within my rights to fulfil our side of the promise and ensure my son’s future; she is _not_ within hers to break the deal.”

            Celatus’ mouth twisted just subtly enough not to offend their client, but Vannus noticed his distaste all the same.

            “My prices,” he said, “are based on —”

            Varia rolled her eyes and drew a small leather satchel from under her shawl, which fell to the floor with a heavy, clinking _thud._

            “I’m certain that will suffice,” she said. Celatus didn’t look at the satchel, but Vannus was eyeing it with suspicious wonder as his friend eyed their client with mere suspicion. Eventually, Celatus spoke.

            “We will look into the matter,” he said. “If Aquilia has any motives ulterior to her marriage to your son, I will investigate them.” He raised his arm in a long flat line from shoulder to fingertips, pointed at the door. “If you please, Varia Camilla.”

            She scowled, and rose to her feet.

            “Just remember that _I_ am the one paying you,” she said; and then lowered her veil again and paced from the room, measured, imperious, and as absolutely sure of her superiority as Celatus himself.

            Vannus glanced from her back to the bitter twist of Celatus’ mouth, and grinned.

            “Not everything you wanted it to be?” he teased, however hoarsely.

            “First case back in Rome and it’s _this,_ _”_ Celatus muttered, as he pushed himself to his feet and began to pace. “How dull.”

            Vannus shrugged. “Sounds pretty interesting to me,” he said. “A Vestal, a scandal, a senatorial family...”

            “And not a single murder?” Celatus added. “Dull, dull, dull...”

            With a smirk, and a shake of his head, Vannus shoved the last of his pork into his mouth. “We don’t actually know what’s going on, remember?” he chewed.

            “Oh, it’s easy enough to guess,” Celatus moaned — “some tawdry patrician marriage deal gone awry, she’s found someone more attractive, they’ll run away together while the Varii denounce her... Predictable. Boring. They don’t need my help at all.”

            “At least it’s work,” Vannus reminded him. “And with a healthy pay by the sound of that bag.”

            “Could be full of asses for all we know,” Celatus grumbled, and picked up the satchel as he passed it in his pacing and tossed it to Vannus on the couch. “How much is it anyway?”

            Vannus caught the heavy bundle with his left hand alone, wincing. He unknotted the leather twine holding it closed while Celatus continued to mutter and pace, and dug his hand into a mound of silver.

            “Jupiter bless us,” he breathed — “Celatus, there must be a hundred denarii in here.”

            Celatus shrugged as he stalked back and forth across their little space.

            “It’s not much,” he drawled, “but it’s something. Almost worth the hassle.”

            “ _Almost?_ _”_ Vannus echoed. “That’s practically a handful of aureii, you call that _almost_ worth the hassle of going down and watching a Vestal for a few days?”

            “She retires nine days before the kalends,” Celatus said. “That gives us three days, starting tomorrow, before either the Varii are satisfied or Aquilia flees.”

            “Three days?” Vannus repeated. “Easy.”

            “Dull.”

            “It’ll pass the time, though...”

            Celatus stopped abruptly in his pacing, and glared at Vannus.

            “We don’t need the money,” he snapped.

            “Fortune kept my savings intact while we were gone, Celatus —”

            “Not _Fortune,_ _”_ Celatus drawled — _“_ _Hirtia._ _”_

            Vannus smiled to one side. “Same thing,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t use the extra security.” His expression sobered. “You lost a lot when the villa burned down, Celatus.”

            Though he tried to hide it, Celatus’ eyes went to Vannus’ bandaged shoulder, and the stiffness in his posture dripped away.

            “ _We_ lost a lot, Vannus,” he said.

            “My family never owned that villa.”

            “What’s mine is yours.”

            “What’s also your brother’s, however, is not.”

            Celatus _tsk_ -ed, and continued to pace. “Regardless,” he said, “the case will be boring, and we don’t need the money.”

            “We _do_ need the money, and there’s a Vestal involved, for Mithras’ sake! You never know what you might find.”

            Celatus rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know exactly,” he grumbled — “chastity vows and superiority complexes, _that_ _’_ _s_ what I’ll _find..._ _”_

            Vannus set the money down beside him and held out his left hand, until Celatus stopped in his pacing again to glance at it as he might a wild snake.

            “Take the case, Celatus,” Vannus insisted, with a beckoning motion. Celatus, with hesitant step, left his path to cross the room, and slipped his right hand into Vannus’ outstretched left. “It will be good for you to have something to do that doesn’t involve dead skin and dirty bandages.”

            Celatus bent down to drop a kiss on Vannus’ forehead. “I _like_ your dead skin and dirty bandages.”

            Vannus laughed, and winced, and laughed again.

            “No you don’t.”

            Celatus kissed him again, on precisely the same spot.

            “I’ll take the case,” he murmured into the fringe of Vannus’ hair. “It will be fast and easy and I won’t enjoy it, but I’ll take it.”

            “Don’t judge too soon, Celatus,” Vannus warned, and he pushed the satchel of denarii into Celatus’ hand.

 

            Vannus fell asleep quickly that night, exhausted, facing the wall, and with his injured arm cradled against his chest.

 

            “Vannus!”

            He frowned over his sleep-shut eyes, and hunched his shoulders further under the blanket.

            “ _Vannus!_ _”_

            A hoarse, half-groan escaped his throat, and he clutched the covers closer as he rolled towards the wall. The latch lifted and the door burst open, along with a flurry of morning light, colder air, and a Cornelius in the full throes of intellectual excitement. The blanket was whipped away.

            “ _Mithras!_ _”_

            “Vannus, get up!”

            He stumbled, to sitting and then standing, blinking and fumbling as the cold crept in. Naked except for his underwear, Vannus’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, as his toes curled and he drew his limbs in closer, gasping.

            “Celatus!”

            The man in question was whirling about the room, plucking a tunic and a belt from his drawers and pouring water from the jug on the table, stepping this way and that around Vannus’ shrinking form.

            “Celatus, what — _what,_ in Pluto’s name, are you —”

            “Lots of work to do, Vannus!” Celatus crowed, shaking out the sling on the table and setting it on the bed. “We have to get to the House of Vestals early to keep an eye on Aquilia, find out where she goes, who she sees, what her plot is —”

            “Whether or not it’s cold enough freeze my balls off,” Vannus added. Celatus tossed a tunic into his face, which he barely caught with one hand.

            “I’ll need you to help me out on this one,” Celatus was chattering — “four eyes are better than two, after all, and we might need to be in two places at once for this.”

            “I hate you,” Vannus grumbled, fumbling his way into his clothes.

            “Get dressed, Hirtia made porridge!”

            He sped out the door, leaving Vannus to tie his belt as he followed on more lazy feet, asking: “Have you given anything to the penates this morning?”

            “I lit the incense and left some of the grapes on the shelf,” Celatus muttered, as he jotted something down on one of the wax tablets littered about the room. “Have you seen my map of the forum?”

            “You mean you don’t know it off by heart yet?”

            Celatus shot him a glare which Vannus did not heed as he ladled some porridge from the pot in the kitchen into a bowl.

            “I’ve sent one of my irregulars to keep an eye on the house of the Vestals for me,” Celatus went on, “she’ll let us know if she finds anything to help identify Aquilia’s movements.” He put the last, finished touches onto the note he was writing, and flipped the cover of the tablet over with a flourish. “Are you ready for a trip to the temple?”

            Vannus pursed his lips around a mouthful of porridge and raised his eyebrows as if to say, ’Do I _look_ ready?’

 

            Not an hour later, they were walking through the remnants of the grove and mounting the few steps up to the Temple of Vesta. Her shrine was tall and circular — still gleaming as if new despite now having stood for years since its rebuilding after the fire — and its columns somehow seemed to be both more imposing and more homely than those of the other temples nearby. Vannus held his breath as they crossed the threshold.

            Within, the temple was full of shadow, a dusk-like presence which folded the newcomers into its embrace. Vannus felt immediately safer in its arms. In the centre of the room, the sacred fire crackled softly and merrily in its hearth, and the hearty glow of its embers and dancing flames illuminated with warmth those corners of the temple which the sunlight falling from the smoke-hole in the roof did not. Most fully in the light of the fire, though, was the Vestal who watched over it that morning: a short young woman no more than fifteen years old, with her braided, coiled, piled hair half-hidden by the veil and ropes of wool twisted about her head and draped over her shoulders. She looked up at them with wise eyes as they entered, and smiled a greeting. Vannus bowed his head.

            “I haven’t been in here since...” he whispered to Celatus, awed into quiet tones — “since at least before I left on campaign. I forgot...”

            Celatus was peering about them with all-seeing, glinting eyes, turning in a full circle on his toes. “Yes, it is moving,” he said, in perhaps the most unmoved voice Vannus had ever heard. But then he completed his circle, and his eyes fell still ahead of them, and he let out a soft and revelatory: _“_ _Oh._ _”_

            Vannus raised his eyebrows and leaned in close so the priestess would not hear his murmur. “It’s not her, is it?” he asked; but Celatus’ eyes, he realised, were not on the hearth, or the Vestal, but on the far wall, half-hidden by the faint, rising smoke from the fire.

            “No,” he breathed — “it’s _her._ _”_

            Vannus followed in Celatus’ footsteps as he crossed the circular room, skirting the fire without a glance, and stopped before the short column upon which the Palladium stood. It was an unassuming statue — made of scratched, worn wood, smoke-blackened in places, and perhaps only as tall as Vannus’ arm was long; but Vannus could only guess at how important she would be to a man like Celatus, whose religious observances, though he might deny them, began and ended with his reverence for Minerva and all the cunning that she held.

            “When did you last see her?” Vannus asked, and allowed only the smallest smile to grace one corner of his mouth. Celatus, when he replied, seemed to have restored some of his usual dispassion.

            “Well, I —” he cleared his throat — “I stopped by the shrine on the Aventine, of course, when we got to Rome, as soon as Seia said I could safely leave you asleep, but this...”

            Vannus’ smile grew. “You know, I haven’t been up to the Medica temple in a while, now,” he said, as unobtrusive as he could be. “Maybe you and I should have a look in sometime. When this case is over, perhaps.”

            Celatus’ eyes were still fixed to the Palladium, despite his lofty tone. “Yes, perhaps we should,” was all he said; and then finally turned his gaze from the statue to his friend. “I’d like that,” he added; then turned away to begin to pace in a circle around the inside of the temple wall. He lowered his voice now to conspiratorial levels. “So, we know Aquilia is not on duty now,” he said. “If she is not to be found in the House, we may have a hard time tracking her down; but if she _is_ —”

            “One of us gets to tail a high priestess. Mithras and Mars...” Vannus’ enthusiasm was diminishing first at the startling nearness of the plan, then again at Celatus’ devilish grin.

            “I left a note with Hirtia to redirect any messages for me to the forum,” he was saying, “so hopefully my spy should be getting back to us soon.”

            “Please don’t call it _spying,_ _”_ Vannus groaned, “I’m already certain we’re going to perform some act of blasphemy or another in the course of this case.”

            Celatus’ grin only grew wider. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” he drawled in an undertone.

            “Now, if _only_ that were really true...” Vannus bumped Celatus in the ribs with his elbow. “Shouldn’t you not lie all the time in deference to _her?_ _”_ he quipped, with a nod behind them to where the Palladium stood and watched with blank, all-seeing eyes of wood. Celatus’ expression morphed into one of mockingly sincere reprimand.

            “I think the goddess of war and cunning would be rather disappointed if I gave away the game so easily.”

            Vannus’ breath left him in a hiss of chuckling laughter, and he was pleased to see Celatus’ suppressed half-smile join in the merriment.

            “All right,” Vannus sighed, “all right. Let’s go and be damned together.”

 

            They had hardly taken two steps away from the foot of the steps outside the temple before a dirt-streaked and barefoot little girl, no more than eight years old, ran up to them, and tugged insistently on the hem of Celatus’ toga. He crouched down to her level, and tilted his head for her to whisper in his ear. When she was finished, she pulled back from him with wide eyes.

            “Thank you,” he said, and slipped a few asses from somewhere in the folds of his toga and into her hand. Without another sound, the girl dashed away again, and disappeared into the crowd in the forum nearby. Celatus took Vannus’ elbow and steered them around to behind the temple, amongst the bristly remains of the once-sacred grove, no longer blackened, but certainly not the wide, verdant garden it had once been.

            “News of Aquilia?” Vannus murmured.

            “Negative news,” Celatus replied, in a similar tone. “No sign of her from what Julia could see, which either means that she’s lying low, or has already gone out.”

            “It was barely dawn when you told me you’d set her on watch,” Vannus pointed out.

            “Exactly.”

            “So what now?”

            Celatus was staring about above the level of Vannus’ head. “I’m going to start hunting,” he said. “Finding someone in the city with no clues to work with is going to be difficult, and between your lack of observational skills and your continuing weakness, you would only slow me down.”

            Vannus rolled his eyes. “You know, there are much nicer ways of saying things like that.”

            “It’s the truth,” Celatus said, with a shrug. “In any case, I need you to stay here,” he continued. “Which, I might add, is a vital position which I would only entrust with someone I have complete faith in.” He lowered his eyes to meet Vannus’ with a steely — and vaguely entreating — gaze. Vannus cleared his throat, and looked over his shoulder at the high, square walls of the Vestal House.

            “Right.”

            “I’ll find Julia on my way out,” said Celatus, “and tell her to stay with you on watch here — you can send her to find me if something comes up.”

            “And how will _she_ find you?” Vannus asked with a frown, which Celatus met with a frustratingly enigmatic smirk.

            “Those children have their ways,” was all he said. Vannus rolled his eyes.

            “Right, well,” he muttered. “If nothing happens, shall we give it up at sunset and meet back home?”

            “I can’t guarantee I won’t be caught up in a lead, but if I’m not engaged, I’ll be there.”

            “That’ll have to do...”

            Celatus’ eyes glimmered in the strengthening sunlight. ”I’ll see you at dusk.”

            “Please don’t antagonise any more senatorial wives,” Vannus replied, as he walked away and turned to leave. He did not linger, but headed straight for the main roads to begin a slow reconnaissance of the building in question; and, therefore, he didn’t see Celatus standing for a moment in place, with a rather becoming glow of cheer about his being.

 

            Vannus sorely hoped that Celatus was having more luck than he.

            With the help of the little girl Julia, he had watched the Vestal House for hours upon hours, trying his best to make himself inconspicuous. He moved from here to there every so often, so that his view covered a different window or door, while Julia — smaller and quicker than him — darted about between the legs of the crowd and watched what Vannus could not. He bought lunch around noon, and chatted to stallholders, and always he had one eye on the holy house of the city’s most sacred priests. Every so often one Vestal or another would come or go, leaving on business or taking up the watch on the sacred hearth — but none of them were Aquilia. A good few of them were too young, but most of the women who left were slaves or servants, or civilians. Either Aquilia had already left, or she was staying put.

            Only an hour or two into the afternoon watch, however, something did happen: a large and stately litter came to rest outside the house, born by four, similarly-adorned slaves. The figure within did not appear at first, but seemed to pass a message to the door through one of the slaves — who, after a brief conversation at the threshold, was turned away. A head appeared between the curtains of the litter to glare at the door as it shut behind the older woman, then, with a snap of the occupants’ fingers, the litter was lifted, and carried away.

            Vannus rose from the bench he’d been resting on. His gaze darted about for Julia, and when he found her, running from the forum to the broken grove, he hurried up to her.

            “Julia,” he said, crouching down before and slipping two asses from his belt, “I need you to keep an eye on the whole house for me while I’m gone.”

            “You’re following the litter?” she asked, and he smiled at her acuity.

            “Yes. You know where Celatus and I live?”

            She nodded.

            “You’ll come there at dusk and tell us if anything more happened here.”

            Again, she nodded — then took the coins and ran off. Vannus pushed himself to his feet and, on swift yet unhurried feet, slipped back into the streets after the litter.

            They were headed towards the Palatine Hill.

 

            “Celatus!”

            Vannus trotted up the stairs at CCXXIB, breathing hard and looking up to their apartment.

            “Celatus, are you there?”

            A long, familiar face appeared at the top of the stairs, beaming down at him.

            “Vannus!”

            “You have good news?” Vannus asked, as he reached the top of the stairs and marched into their sitting room with Celatus before him.

            “Oh, most excellent,” Celatus grinned. “I found Aquilia, for one thing.”

            “Oh? So she wasn’t at the house, then?”

            “Must have left before dawn for Julia not to see her —”

            “Has _she_ been around then?” Vannus interrupted. “Julia?”

            “No,” Celatus said, with a quick frown. “Should she be?”

            “I asked her to come here at dusk.”

            Celatus peered at him with narrowed eyes. “What happened?”

            “Varia showed up, a little after noon,” said Vannus. “I followed her and left Julia to watch the house.”

            “Well now,” Celatus sighed, drawing out his syllables as he sank into his chair by the hearth, “it seems we both have news to impart.”

            Vannus shrugged with his good arm and sat across from him. “Nothing much, really,” he said. “I couldn’t get too close. Varia was in and out of her house all afternoon: when she got back from the forum, she stayed inside a little while, maybe an hour, then went out again — meeting her son and husband at the curia, meeting her friends in the Campus Martius, at the baths. She spent some time around the Quirinal, after that. It seems she might be scheming, but I couldn’t get close enough to find out what without giving myself away.”

            Celatus had perked up at the report of Varia’s last stop. “The Quirinal?” he repeated. “Where?”

            “She seemed to be staying close to the wall, actually,” Vannus reported with a frown, “usually only a few streets away from the gate.”

            “She’s been doing her own investigations, then,” Celatus muttered, sitting on the edge of his seat. “Did she stay close to the via Insteius?”

            Vannus shrugged with mouth and shoulder. “Not especially.” Celatus’ face had lit up with excitement, and Vannus watched him with mounting keenness. “You know the street, then?”

            “Oh, yes,” Celatus breathed.

            “What, what’s happened?”

            Celatus met his eye with a gleaming gaze.

            “I’ll tell you from the beginning, shall I?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with consummate ease. Vannus settled into his own chair.

            “Tell me all.”

            With a quick grin, Celatus began.

            “I found Aquilia,” he said, “with the help of my irregular lookouts and some very tedious checking of hypotheses. She’s certainly one of the most objectively beautiful women in Rome: richly dressed, but with modesty, and her braids only mostly hidden under her veil. Those slaves at the house must be a dab hand with a comb. She walks with the boldness of a priest, of course, but her very certain stride speaks for itself. I’m hardly surprised at Varia’s insistence on behalf of her son, but I’m afraid our client wouldn’t like the news I have to impart.”

            “She _is_ planning on running away, then.”

            “Obviously,” Celatus drawled, “but I can hardly blame her. That deal must have been made years ago, she was probably still a child when it happened. I cannot fault a woman for wanting to choose for herself whom she marries, especially not when that woman is in as esteemed a position as a Vestal.”

            “So you found her on the Quirinal, of all places?”

            “The woman herself I found on her way to the Capitoline, heading south, so probably coming from one of the northern hills,” Celatus explained. “I shadowed her from a distance: she went up to the Capitol, and into the temple of Juno. There, she watched over the sacrifice of two lambs — clearly a pre-arranged ceremony — providing me, I might add, with a free lunch, as most of the meat was distributed to passers-by after it was cooked.”

            “Most?” Vannus repeated, and watched Celatus’ smile of recognition.

            “Aquilia took two cuts of the meat and carried them to a house on the via Insteius,” Celatus went on. “She stayed there for about three hours; then, before evening, returned to the Vestal house.”

            Vannus sat silent for a long moment, while Celatus preened over his good fortune.

            “So...” he began — “you think Aquilia is preparing for marriage.”

            Celatus’ face scrunched up on one side, as if the answer should be obvious. “She’s already a Vestal Virgin,” he said. “What other reason should she have to go out of her way to sacrifice to Juno?”

            “And Varia suspects.”

            “Unless her actions today were a complete coincidence,” Celatus sighed, “her lingering on the Quirinal seems to imply that she knows more than she let on to us yesterday. Still — we know a little more than she.”

            “For example?”

            Celatus smirked. “The exact house of Aquilia’s suitor,” he suggested. “I even managed to find out his name from one of the neighbours: Publius Novius Gordius.”

            Vannus snorted. “Let’s hope he’s not so hard to figure out as the knot he’s named for.”

            Celatus pushed out of his chair with a smirk. “You have a sword, don’t you?”

            At that moment, however, there came a clatter on the stair, followed by the cries of an outraged Hirtia. Both Vannus and Celatus turned a frown upon the doorway; until a moment later, Julia appeared, panting and exultant, and ran to stand in the middle of their room and declare:

            “I know which room she’s in!”

 

            It took a lot of effort to convince Celatus that there was nothing to be done that night. Aquilia, however bold, was not foolish enough to go about after dark, and neither, Vannus insisted, would they be; especially when Vannus was unable to defend them. It was a short night, however: well before dawn, Celatus was shaking Vannus awake, and, judging by the increasing bruises under his eyes, Vannus suspected that Celatus had not slept at all. Having given Vannus barely enough time for a quick breakfast, Celatus dragged them both out of the house and into the pre-dawn chill, where Vannus’ toes curled under the straps of his boots and he wrapped the ends of his cloak tighter around his shoulders with his free hand. Celatus, on the other hand, walked with an unseemly, brisk step, which brought him springing ahead of Vannus and then back again until he caught up. Julia ran into them only a few streets before the forum, and jogged alongside on her littler legs.

            “You’re _sure_ it was her room?” Celatus interrogated her as they walked through the almost deserted city.

            “Pretty certain,” Julia panted. “You said she was pretty — and one of the oldest — and it looked like she was gonna — settle down there, I mean she wasn’t — sort of visiting, y’know?”

            Celatus grinned atop his long strides. _“_ _Excellent._ _”_

            Vannus shook his head, but there was a smile that lingered in his lips as he followed, all in a rush. Julia led them around to one side of the Vestal House — quite still, at that hour — and pointed up at one of the darkened windows on the upper floor.

            “There,” she declared. “The third one in from the left. That’s hers.”

            Celatus stared up at it for some time, before he looked here and there about the building, examining walls and windows and doors, and who knew what else. His eyes narrowed.

            “Vannus,” he said, slowly, drawing out the sounds, “would you object very strongly to my dressing as a woman and infiltrating the house to discover more?”

            Vannus looked up at him over his left shoulder, with his mouth pursed and his brow wrinkling with distaste. “Yes.”

            “Strongly enough to stop me?”

            “If I had to tie you down in our rooms, I would,” Vannus remarked, dryly. Celatus hummed.

            “I thought so,” he said, and it sounded almost like a sigh, as if of disappointment. “In that case, Julia — you have the chance to earn another handful of coins.”

            The little girl’s face lit up.

 

            Vannus managed to keep Celatus occupied until noon only by tasking him with the removal and replacement of the bandages and ointment on his shoulder and arm. It was an ordeal, but it had had to be done anyway, and Vannus was glad to have at least found a distraction for Celatus until Julia came back to them. When she did, it was practically enough to send Celatus flying: he thrust a few bronze coins at the girl, paced all through her report, nodding profusely, then paid her again when she left.

            “She’s working in the temple this afternoon,” he murmured, repeating Julia’s words as she left. “She’s _working this afternoon..._ _”_

            “Yes, Celatus,” Vannus remarked, “until sunset, I did hear it.”

            “We _must_ be there.”

            Vannus frowned. “Why?”

            Celatus stopped in his tracks and flashed him a grin that sent a chill down Vannus’ spine.

            “I need you to light a fire.”

 

            “I am _not_ stealing sacred fire.”

            Vannus was very glad that Celatus had deigned to match his pace this time on their way to the forum.

             _“ Age,_ Vannus, it’s not so bad!” Celatus was sighing. “All you need to do is cause a minor distraction so Aquilia —”

            “I am _not stealing sacred fire!_ _”_

            “How would it be _stealing,_ it’s _fire_ , it’s not like lighting a torch from it somehow diminishes how much is there —”

            “All right, how about this,” Vannus snapped: “I am not stealing sacred fire, _and then using it to try to burn down the Vestal house._ _”_

            With a sound of suppressed fury, Celatus threw his hands in the air, the left brandishing an unlit torch dangerously close to the heads of passersby. “I _told_ you, we’re not _burning it down_ ,” he cried, “you just need to create enough smoke to inspire an emergency so we can evacuate the building and keep Aquilia busy while we have a look around her rooms! Honestly, you’d think I was asking you to spit on Apollo himself —”

            Vannus flinched. “Mithras and Mars, Celatus, don’t even joke about it!”

            Celatus rolled his eyes. “A bit of smoke,” he insisted. “That’s all I ask of you. Aquilia is the eldest Vestal, she’ll have to look after the others in an emergency. I go in, have a look at her room during the distraction, then the smoke clears, ’whoops, false alarm everyone’, and we go home with at least some knowledge, hopefully, of Aquilia’s concrete plans.”

            Vannus glared up at him as they walked.

            “And you’re _certain_ about this?” he said. “Are you _absolutely certain?_ _”_

            Celatus smirked at him askance. “When am I ever not?” he said; and Vannus merely rolled his eyes with a smile. They had nearly reached the forum, and Celatus slowed his pace as they approached. “Go inside and light this,” he said, as he handed the torch to Vannus. “I’ll meet you behind the temple.”

            Vannus mounted the few steps as Celatus disappeared around the side, and again, once inside, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. There was another of the priestesses standing at the hearth this time, in the light of the fire: Aquilia Aetia, if Julia’s findings were right. The woman looked to be in her late thirties, pale, with a face as sharp as Celatus’, and at least as beautiful. Her dark hair was twisted back in its seven braids, half-hidden by her adornments but with just enough rolled back around her forehead to hint at its full lustre. Her lips were full, and her hands long, a kind of contradiction of terms: she was feminine here, and masculine there, gorgeous, and, to Vannus, almost eerily similar to his friend. When she looked up at Vannus’ entrance, her eyes seemed to gleam in the firelight, and Vannus thought in a frenzied flash that she could have been the Palladium come to life. He thought of Celatus’ eyes.

            “ _Salve,_ ” she said, smiling at his hesitance as if she knew everything there was to know about him. Vannus thought that, if it came down to it, she really would be able to defend the whole city from her place at this hearth, for not a soul, god or mortal, would risk offending such intelligent beauty.

            He cleared his throat.

            “ _Salve._ ”

            Her eyes moved to his torch.

            “You need some fire?” she said, though it didn’t sound like a question. He nodded. “Come forward then.”

            Vannus approached the hearth, and forced his feet to carry him with dignity. “Thank you,” he said, as he held the torch to the flames, and Aquilia smiled at him with the expression of a _praestes_. Vannus could see why she had made an excellent Vestal; and why Varia was so intent upon her son’s nuptial promise. His eyes moved to the Palladium at the back of the temple, as if to check that she was still there, and had not, in fact, grown into bodily form in Aquilia herself. The priestess noticed the direction of his gaze, and smiled in a manner which seemed as dangerous as the goddess, and as keen as that other devotee whom Vannus knew so well.

            “You’ve seen our Minerva,” she noted, jolting Vannus out of his confused reverie. He blinked, and looked to her, and smiled very briefly.

            “A good friend of mine,” he said, “is a follower of her alone. I appreciate her if only for that.”

            “Her brother seems not to have treated you very well,” Aquilia noted, with a significant glance at the sling on his arm and the bandages spilling out from under his tunic’s sleeve and collar. He gave a mirthless laugh.

            “You should see what he did to the other one,” was all he said.

            Aquilia’s smile grew. “Well, all Romans can find sanctuary with Vesta,” she said, with the welcome and warmth of only the truest of priests. “I can always turn our Pallas around while you complain.”

            Vannus couldn’t stop another laugh, this one more genuine than the last, at which Aquilia seemed pleased. He drew the torch from the hearth, and watched the flames lick steadily at its head.

            “Thank you,” he said; and Aquilia nodded at him, a deep and graceful movement.

            “May the goddess be with you.”

            Vannus glanced from her, to Pallas, hidden in shadow, to the warm, strong fire at his feet.

            “Thank you.”

            He turned, and walked away. His feet felt slower than usual — a dragging, ponderous step — and thought he could sense Aquilia’s eyes on his back, watching him all the way until the weak sunlight outside enveloped him once more. Celatus, as promised, was waiting for him around the corner, behind the temple; directly beneath, Vannus was aware, the spot where the Palladium stood. The _nobilis_ grinned with triumph at the fire in Vannus’ hand, and opened his mouth to speak; but Vannus, overcome with something like a burning, chaste desire, overrode him, by stepping up and kissing him: once, but lingering.

            “She reminds me of you,” Vannus said under his breath when they had parted, “in some ways.”

            Celatus’ eyebrows rose. “Then perhaps she’ll be a more formidable opponent than I though,” he joked. Vannus huffed a laugh, and stepped back.

            “All right, what have you gathered?”

            From behind the shrubs at his feet, Celatus raised a small bundle, secured with twine, of green sticks and half-dead leaves.

            “This should provide ample enough smoke for a disturbance, don’t you think?” he said, and turned on his heel with a smirk. They slipped across paths and between people, until they stood alone in an alley in the shadow of the Vestal House, their backs to the revered bricks.

            “Count to ten,” Celatus instructed in an undertone, as he passed his bundle into Vannus’ right hand, “then light the branches and throw the lot in through there —” he tapped at the ledge of a narrow window on his right, which, from what Vannus could see, led into a wide, bare corridor — “and walk back towards the Aventine.” Just when Celatus seemed about to walk away, however, he gave Vannus an odd look: a sort of frown of confusion which was tempered by a pleased smile, and a glow in his cheeks which it was not quite cold enough to be caused merely by the chill of the wind. Vannus returned the look with a steady, nondescript gaze; until Celatus stepped forward, dropped a kiss on Vannus’ cheekbone, and walked away. “Start counting!” he called, as he disappeared around the corner.

            Vannus smiled with the very edge of his mouth, and did as he was told — craning his neck to check over each shoulder that he was not being watched — then held the torch to the damp handful of branches. Passing items from his trapped right hand to his able left, he tossed first the smoking bundle, then the torch, in through the window, and heard the clatter and crackle of the falling torch and the growing, hampered fire. Within moments, a thick, grey smoke began to trickle through the window, and through into the rest of the house.

            Vannus turned on his heel, and walked swiftly out into the street, turning south, as he heard the rising clamour of frightened, frantic voices behind him.

 

            Celatus caught up with him as he walked up out of the Aventine valley. There was no warning; just a set of long, cool fingers slipped into the crook of his healthy arm, and a voice in his ear which murmured: “She’s getting ready to elope.”

            Vannus’ face was steady except for the raising of his brows, and a tilt of his chin towards his friend.

            “All packed and ready, is she?”

            “Oh no, not at all,” Celatus said, with a flippant wave of his hand, “and that’s just the thing. She retires the day after tomorrow — surely she should be packing away her things ready to move out of the Vestal House, whether she intends to marry Varia’s son or not. But she’s barely bothered: clothes neat, certainly, but hardly ready to leave with. No trunks or bags brought out, nothing ready to be stowed or discarded — except for one large satchel, containing the absolute essentials. A few spare pieces of clothing, some jewellery, a comb; a very nice knife, I wondered what you’d think of it; nothing extraneous or replaceable, and all of it ready to go.”

            “So she _is_ going to elope with this Novius Gordius of yours.”

            “Undoubtedly.” Celatus was smirking in his triumph as they turned onto the via Pistoris. “You know, this case has turned out to be rather more distracting than I expected.”

            “Plenty of running back and forth?” Vannus remarked, and Celatus’ smile grew.

            “Plenty to do, at least,” he said. “Plenty to find. Aquilia seems to be an admirable woman, it almost feels a shame to saddle her with a boring family like the Variae...”

            “You’re still going to do it, though, aren’t you?”

            Celatus didn’t meet his eye. “We’ll have to see,” was all he said.

            They had reached CCXXIB as they talked, the street nearly empty around them, and Vannus slowed to a halt and turned to his friend, letting his fingers slip from his arm and facing him with a grave and suspicious expression.

            “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he said. Celatus softened.

            “No,” he said, very softly. “I really do wish I could tell you what will happen, or what I will do, but I honestly don’t know at the moment. Aquilia has yet to make contact, and Novius is a factor about which we know too little to judge. My _plan_ is to approach Aquilia tomorrow, and then find Varia, depending on what Aquilia says. On the day of her retirement, what happens is up to Aquilia and Varia; my task was only to discover what Aquilia plans to do. That I have done.”

            Vannus felt a wash of fondness overcome him, and press a very small smile onto his lips.

            “Have I said either ’thank you’ or ’I love you’ recently?” he asked, and watched Celatus baulk charmingly in the fading afternoon light.

            “Not — that I’m aware of...” he stammered, and Vannus’ smile spread out to show a little of his teeth. In the shadowed alcove of their building’s doorway, Vannus stepped closer, and brought his left hand up to Celatus’ jaw.

            “Well,” he murmured, close to Celatus’ collar, “consider them both heartfelt and said.” His fingers stirred the locks of dark hair behind Celatus’ ear, and he savoured the moment which lingered — his sling-bound arm brushed by Celatus’ hesitant hand, Celatus’ breath upon his cheek — until they each closed the distance. The kiss was quiet, and languid, and almost as gentle as Celatus’ hand so close to Vannus’ injury; until Celatus drew in a breath through his nose and pushed, stepping forward as Vannus stepped back and laughed under Celatus’ lips. His back touched the inner wall of the little doorway to the courtyard, and the kiss grew fiercer, pressed them closer, and began to drag, longer than either of them had intended at the start, until —

             _“Multum salve, Cornelie Celate.”_

            Celatus pulled back with a sharp movement and a wide sort of confusion in his eyes. Both men peered around the corner to see, retreating down the street, the back of a toga, pulled close across shoulders and head against the cold, and a pair of quick, yet proud, feet. Celatus frowned.

            “Do you know him?” Vannus asked.

            “Not a clue,” Celatus said, still frowning. “I suppose I must.” He cocked his head a little to one side.

            “The voice sounds familiar,” Vannus mused.

            “I wonder who it could have been.”

            “Well, I’m not going to let you go after him,” Vannus concluded, with a hint of smooth and cocky intrigue. He leaned back against the wall, and his free hand insinuated itself around Celatus’ waist to make him turn back, smiling, away from the street and closer to Vannus’ upturned mouth. “I have a feeling you’re going to be very busy tonight...”

 

            They kissed, ate dinner, discussed Aquilia and Vannus’ shoulder, and kissed again until they had to part to their separate rooms. Vannus did not sleep for some time; the winter, he felt, had made itself known.

 

            Vannus woke to the thundering of a fist on their apartment door. He snapped awake, plucked from his dreams, and opened his eyes to his darkened room, with the morning light filtering in from Celatus’ room through the tiny windows at the top of the wall.

            “ _Celatus!_ _”_

            The shouting was feminine, imperious, and vengeful. Vannus groaned, shook himself from sleep, and rubbed his eyes with his good hand as he rolled out of bed and to his feet.

            “ _Cornelius Celatus!_ _”_

            Vannus kicked the wooden wall between their rooms as he dressed.

            “Celatus, are you up?” he called through the slats. There came in answer a distant grunt of acknowledgement. “I think Varia might be upset with you.” As if on cue, the hammering on their door redoubled, along with that same, shouting voice.

            “Placate her for me, would you?” came Celatus’ voice through the wall, muffled by the barrier and close by. Vannus finished tugging on his tunic, and knelt with one knee on his bed in order to tap his knuckles against the wall, moving back and forth until he felt an answering rap on the other side, right by his hand. A little smile reached his face as he pressed his fingers to the wood, exactly opposite where Celatus’ had to be.

            “Get up,” he ordered; and pushed up from the bed and out into their main room.

            “ _Cornelius Celatus, I_ demand _an audience!_ _”_ the voice was shouting, as the pounding continued. Vannus shuffled across the room, and finally wrenched open the door to face a red-faced and livid Varia Camilla. He forced a flat smile onto his lips.

            “Come in.”

            Varia stormed past him into their rooms, only moments before Celatus’ door opened to admit the man himself, in tunic and messy toga, and with his hair like an explosion about his head. Vannus suppressed a snort of amusement, and went to the kitchen to put together some breakfast.

            “Cornelius,” Varia thundered. “Would you like to explain why you have not stopped that liar priest from backing out of her promise?”

            Celatus’ eyes narrowed as he watched her stand in the centre of their room and glare.

            “Has something happened, Varia,” he said, quietly scathing, “that has caused you to doubt me?”

            “Nothing!” Varia snapped. “Nothing has happened, and that is precisely the point! She retires _tomorrow,_ Cornelius, and are you telling me you’ve found _nothing_ on her?”

            “Funny you should say that,” Vannus interjected from their little kitchen — _“_ _nothing._ As far as I was aware, we were under no obligation to tell you every detail of our investigations until we’d finished. After all, you never told us the extent of yours.”

            Varia’s imperious glare turned upon Vannus, and he nearly hesitated; but he forced himself to think of the scars on his shoulders, and push his chin forward with a pride above his station.

            “After all, what other reason would a woman of your position have for hanging around the Quirinal for almost an hour?”

            Varia, under her olive tan, grew a little ashen.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Vannus, unimpressed, lowered his chin, tilted his head, raised his brows; and Varia scowled.

            “I was never obliged to —”

            “And neither were we,” Celatus interrupted. “We have been working. We were going to contact you when we had concrete information rather than unconfirmed leads. We thank you for waking us at this...” He glanced at the windows towards where the sunlight was just turning from grey to a blushing yellow-gold — _“_ _hour;_ but now we have work to do, which will not be aided by the presence of yourself or your retinue. _Vale._ _”_

            Varia puffed herself up like an irate lioness, and Celatus, though he rolled his eyes, stilled considerably.

            “And now,” he drawled, “you’re about to ask how it is that I dare to speak with such impertinence. Suffice to say that I am very busy with the work that you have given me. Again: _vale._ ”

            Varia’s mouth turned down in a furious moue. “I will be back this afternoon,” she growled, leaning forwards at the shoulders toward Celatus. “You had better have something _concrete_ then.”

            With which she spun on her heel, and stalked from their rooms with the dignity and fury of Juno, dress swirling about her legs. Celatus watched her go with a layer of concern under his irritation. Vannus, turning back to his task, pulled the lid off a pot of emmer and looked up at Celatus.

            “Breakfast?”

 

            They ate with leisure, discussing Varia’s impatience, and left after the dawn had well advanced into morning. Julia caught up with them, somehow, as they neared the forum, but Celatus slipped an as into her hand and convinced her that she was not needed. By the time they reached the forum, the day was in full swing, with people milling about on business and pleasure: stately senators paced behind the columns of the basilicae, urchins darted between market stalls, and all manner of people in between sold and bought, discussed and argued, kissed cheeks and threw glares in the open space. Vannus and Celatus skirted the temples in their approach and headed straight for the Vestal House, where Celatus hitched his toga more smoothly over his shoulder and knocked upon the front door with an almost imperial command. They hardly had to wait; mere moments later, a small hatch at eye level slid open, to reveal a dark and suspicious-looking face.

            “If you require something from the priestesses, you would be best to approach the temple itself,” said the woman whose face peered out at them. “This is a private space.”

            “We’re here to request an audience with Aquilia Aetia,” Celatus proclaimed, looking down his nose.

            “She’s no longer here,” the door-woman snapped. Celatus’ brow creased.

            “What?”

            “She retired today,” the woman shrugged. “Left early this morning with a few of her belongings; I doubt she’ll be coming back.”

            “Today?” Vannus repeated.

            “ _Tomorrow,_ _”_ Celatus corrected. “She retires tomorrow.”

            The door-woman’s mouth screwed up on one side. “Are you questioning my judgement on this?”

            “Let us in,” Celatus snapped.

            “No.”

            “You _must_ let us in!”

            “I must do nothing of the sort,” the door-woman laughed. “If you want an audience with Aetia, you’ll get none of it here, whether I let you in or not!”

            The hatch slammed shut, and Celatus stared at it for a long moment, his eyes wide and the rest of his face a nonplussed blank.

            “She lied,” Vannus muttered. “She’s been lying this whole time. Perhaps for years, _decades,_ if Varia never figured it out...”

            “Via Insteius,” Celatus suddenly snapped. His eyes flashed to meet Vannus’. “She’s eloping _today._ _”_

            Vannus was already moving, backing away on steady feet from the building.

            “There’s a horse seller around the corner,” he was saying. “We have to get there — _fast._ _”_

 

            Celatus paid for the hire of the horses until the afternoon. Vannus had to untie his sling to ride, but managed well enough; and soon they were on their way, clattering through the streets and headed north. The closer they got to the crowded slums nearer the wall, the harder it was to ride, until eventually they tied their horses to a post outside a tavern a few streets away and ran the rest of the way. Celatus led them both towards the house he’d found, and they sprinted up the stairs to the right apartment and hammered on the door just as Varia Camilla had done to them only hours before. It took a while — and some shouting on Celatus’ part — before the door was opened by a dour-looking, sharp-faced man, who glared at them from reddened eyes.

            “What is it?” he snapped.

            “Novius Gordius,” Celatus panted. “Where is she?”

            “Where’s _who?_ _”_ Gordius sneered.

            “You know precisely who,” Celatus insisted. “Aquilia Aetia, the Vestal Virgin promised to VariaCamilla’s son, and _your_ new wife!”

            “Wife?” Gordius repeated. “I have no idea what yo— oh.”

            “ _Oh?_ _”_ Celatus repeated. “What does that mean?”

            “...Cornelius Celatus?” Gordius said, in itself a question. Celatus blinked, and retreated a little from where he’d begun to loom in Gordius’ doorway.

            “Yes.”

            “Ah.” Gordius stepped back from the doorway. “Just wait there a moment. She left something for you...”

            Celatus was so taken aback that he obeyed, and glanced at Vannus as they waited, to exchange a round of shrugs, shaken heads, and grimaces of astonishment. After a little while, Gordius returned, with a folded sheet of papyrus in his hand, sealed with wax.

            “I had a similar one from my sister,” he said, “but she said someone else would be around asking after...”

            Celatus took the letter with a careful hand, and unfolded it, then held it out where both he and Vannus could read it at once.

 

             _A Aetia C Celato salutem dico_

             _Benius egis. Nihil suspicata dum ignis falsus sum, et modo cum te tuumque socium simul post rem videns, totum intellexi, tum cogitare incohavi. De te monita eram, certe, nam, si Variae me investigare voluerant, non homo fuerat ad se utilior. Facile erat domum cognoscere. Mela iudicare viri dulcis et amantis cum face difficilis erat; sed certe docta multe artibus sum, et fallacia tam nova mihi est quam toga, cuius libertas plus quam semel uti. Modo mihi sequi ad domum opus erat ut veritatem cognovissem. Illic imprudentius tibi salutem dixi, postquam ad templum et mellita mea redii._

             _Nos ambae fugam esse optimam putavimus, instatae a adversario fortiore sumus, quo pensum a femina potente; ergo nidum vacuum ubi hodie mane invenies salutas. Gordia mihi dixit te domum fratris instavisse, ergo hanc notam cum se relinquere optissime putavi._

             _Idcirco multos annos diem recessus celavi, sed cliens tua requiescat. Compertum habeo maiestas Variarum se collegisse, et maiestas deae, certe, numquam dubitata. Vesta erat quae Gordiam meam mihi dedit, et Vesta est quae nos in aeternum custodiet, utrum Romae habitamus an ab ultra moenia._

             _Erit modo molestum vobis et clienti vestri sequi. Tibi, Cornelie, et mellito tuo, illam felicitatem totam iubeo quam ego Noviaque e manu Vestae accepimus._

             _Aquilia Novia Aetia_

             _Cum Aquilia Novia Gordia_

 

            Vannus was a little slower to finish reading than Celatus, and by the time he had, Celatus’ grin had blossomed, and his silent laughter become a low and a full-bodied chuckling.

            “What an admirable woman!” he proclaimed.

            “You didn’t know about the sister?” Vannus asked. “At _all?_ _”_

            Gordius was watching them with a little sorrow on his face. “They were very quiet about it all,” he said. “I’m not surprised you didn’t know.”

            “What a very, very admirable woman,” Celatus repeated, quieter this time, and still looking at the letter in his hand. “I’m sure Varia will be _delightfully_ displeased.”

 

            They returned their horses to the seller in the forum, then paid a visit to Varia’s expensive house before she could come to them. As predicted, Varia was less than pleased: she kept her demeanour calm, but demanded that half her fee be returned, and had her slaves physically throw Vannus and Celatus from her house. In truth, they didn’t mind; the case felt like a triumph, somehow, despite that they could hardly have been said to have completed any of their set tasks. Aquilia, as Celatus repeated many times and in many ways on their walk home, had earned all the happiness she had found, especially considering the long game she had played, and the way she had so expertly confounded both the Variae and Celatus himself. Vannus watched him expound upon Aquilia’s inspired actions with a smiling eye, and thought back to Aquilia’s words, written out in an elegant, expertly-trained hand: _'Tibi, Cornelie, et mellito tuo, illam felicitatem totam iubeo...’_

            Seia stopped by that afternoon, to tend to Vannus’ wounds, and it was decided that he was ready to move on to the flour and hoarhound mixture, which she left for Celatus to apply. As he pushed away a bowl full of dirty bandages and picked up the pot of flour mixture to apply it to Vannus’ skin, Celatus spoke in a half-distracted, steady voice.

            “I’ve been reading,” he said. “Celsus, that is. I’m sure you’re familiar with his work.”

            “It was taught to me,” Vannus said — tightly, through the pain — “but only practically. I’ve never read his works.”

            Celatus hummed. As he worked, he would glance up and down, from Vannus’ reddened, shiny, scarring arm, to his face, to judge his pain.

            “There was a line which struck me,” he continued, “in his section on various fevers.”

            Vannus gritted his teeth. “Oh?”

            “Yes,” Celatus replied, smoothly. _“Intellegi potest ab uno medico multos non posse curari, eumque, si artifex sit, idoneum esse, qui non multum ab aegro recedit.”_

            Vannus snorted with laughter. “I would hardly call you _artifex,_ Celatus.”

            “Ah, but,” Celatus protested, with absolute softness, and leaned over his work to kiss Vannus’ cheek with the same air — “I certainly do not intend much to withdraw.”

 

            Vannus dreamt that night, again, of Celatus’ flashing eyes — now interspersed with those of Aquilia — and the flame of the hearth which enveloped them with warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I know: fucking _finally_. I am so very very sorry for the wait, but a production of _Hamlet_ , my Honours thesis, the adverse reaction to my Honours thesis, and a new job all seemed to want to get in the way of my getting any writing done. It took me a while over the summer to get back into the groove, so I apologise if this section seems stilted because of it.
> 
> The words Celatus sings to Vannus when he's being treated near the beginning are, of course, from Virgil's _Aeneid_ , II.431-2. All the burn treatments are taken from Aulus Cornelius Celsus, who was a first-century doctor who wrote _De Medicina_ ( _On Medicine_ ), which was an invaluable help to me, as well as being unbelievably gross in places. Most of the burns stuff is in 5.27.13 [a reference I got TOTALLY WRONG the first time I posted this, sorry], but I also read around for other tips. His writing on fevers is hilariously useless ("What are fevers? We just don't know!"), but can be found around 3.3-4. Celatus' quote at the end is from 3.4.9. All translations are mine.
> 
> I sorely wish I'd written the entire series before publishing, because then I would've been able to foreshadow Vannus' appreciation for, and Celatus' dislike of, grapes, but that's no matter. I might go back and add it in somewhere later, if I have the time and energy.
> 
> When Celatus says he overtook Menna "at the aqueduct", I'm using it as shorthand for the Aqua Appia, a very old and important aqueduct in the city. My assumption is that its status has earned it the same kind of casualness as when Sydneysiders refer to the Sydney Harbour Bridge as just "the bridge".
> 
> I'm really not sure about ancient star charts; but Mykale, in her scene, is tracing the _corona borealis_. One of the myths behind its meaning is that it was the crown given to Ariadne by Dionysus at their wedding. This, of course, being after she fell for Theseus, helped him defeat the minotaur, and then was abandoned by him. Poor Ariadne.
> 
> I've tried to use Roman inclusive counting in speech, and non-inclusive anglophonic counting in prose, but I'm not sure how consistent it is. I've also deviated a little from the all-caps that Latin was usually written in for Aquilia's letter, purely for aesthetic reasons.
> 
> The Palladium is the statue said to be stolen by Diomedes and Odysseus during the Trojan War (because it was said that Troy wouldn't fall while she was still there to protect it) -- eventually, apparently, coming to rest in the Temple of Vesta in Rome -- but the _Iliad_ doesn't specify on her height, as far as I could find, and the visual sources vary from able to be held in one hand, to a full-size statue. I went with something in the middle-ish. Apparently there was indeed a shrine to Minerva on the Aventine; the temple to Minerva Medica (a form of her for doctors and medicine, linked with Apollo Medica) on the Esquiline has been recorded but, sadly, never found.
> 
> The _vicus Insteius_ was a real street on the Collis Latiaris (part of the Quirinal), near the Porta Fontinalis.
> 
> Finally, I'm very out of practise in Latin, so if you notice any errors above, especially in Aetia's letter, do please let me know. I did my best, but it _was_ midnight when I worked on it.


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